Fallen From Grace
by enaskoritsi
Summary: And they shall fall... Backwards, without warning... Alone and broken... As I myself... Have fallen from grace.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer_: I do not own Sweeney Todd : The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, or anything associated.

.:. Fallen From Grace .:.

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The chair was dilapidated and aged, with a sagging grimace of a seat. The cover was a faded, horrible brown color with small tears dashed along the poorly sewed seams. When a hand ran over the surface, uneven lumps of stuffing could be roughly traced, like deadly tumors lurking beneath the skin, ready to strike, ready to kill...And when one sat in the dastardly creature, he would sink and be sucked into the fabric, pulled into the dark abysses of Hell.

Before this point in time, the monster had had little company. Only a few visitors dared to place themselves in its slippery jaws, and they fled before the trap could snap shut in victory. Trapped like a wild animal in an iron cage, the vehement rage stayed buried beneath layers upon layers of cloth and thread, bared in by thick wooden frames. Few noticed the frustrated shrieks and moans that filled the air as they neared the silent predator...

But a spirit ignored becomes all the more vengeful.

The chair's master ruled with his unimaginable strength and size, baring down on the ghoulish soul until it could not breath. The gruesome, grotesque gifts it had saved away from the unsuspecting world stayed hidden, as the one who had previously been in command bowed to another.

Yet now, here it was placed. Whisked away from the parlor or kitchen where it had once made its domain, and now brooding on a much more precarious perch. The great, booming monarch had vanished, and a dark, treacherously silent new foe faced it now.

This new patriarch was not like the jovial man of yesterday. His eyes were black and lifeless as coal, and his skin was sickly and pale, like yellowed parchment. This being radiated cruelty and cold, his very form emitting the essence of death. Like an animated corpse himself, the barber stood lifelessly, a blink every now and then showing his existence, or perhaps a brief glitter of the sun upon poisoned silver.

A willing spectator, invisible eyes witnessed the first killing, unknown ears twitching at the terrible sound of tearing skin. It watched dead eyes light up aglow at the sight of gushing red rivers and flooding scarlet oceans. The screeching of ripping flesh filled the air, and a jaw hanging open in soundless scream could not invoke pity in either heart.

The sights would soon become familiar and commonplace, but at the time, the new turn of evidence of riveting and brilliant. The scratched, mahogany arms trembled in anticipation, awaiting the day a life of its own would be claimed in its very depths. The ghoul who shared its room must've understood, because he soon began to labor to promote that beautiful dream.

Of course, reward cannot come without pain.

Tearing it apart piece by piece, the demon dismembered its trusting friend, ignoring the howls of pain and bitter bewilderment. Sympathy was tossed aside and burned as this devil worked, bizarre mechanics and tools surrounding him in a vicious audience.

As the slumbering night passed by, the beast began to share his thoughts with his prey, slowing tugging apart its limbs with narrowed eyes.

_They shall come trusting..._

_As I trusted..._

The man focused his eyes on the carcass of his wounded bystander, only slightly smiling, almost fondly, at its broken form.

_And they will face betrayal..._

_Like I was betrayed..._

When he had completed this barbaric task, the man grasped one of the many steel gears he had scattered, fitting it into the place he had prepared, admiring its sleek form as it spun.

_They shall feel pain..._

_As I have felt pain..._

_As I... feel pain..._

Screwing in an army of clogs and instruments that were only pain and mutation to the comatose body, the killer continued his rampage in a series of quick clicks and snaps.

_It will be unexpected..._

_Just as I never knew..._

Things began to move quickly, parts being reattached meticulously, know with metal appendages and organs; silver lungs that did not breathe, a foil heart that did not beat.

Rapidly, in a savage fervor of fury and passion, pieces were leaping into place, screws and nails wrapped around their wooden companions again, and the fabric molded back into its proper form with eager excitement.

Stretching its new sleek, lithe form, the chair could only boast with its pompous pride. The pain and anguish were forgotten in a past fog, and the future loomed before with a promise.

The man watched his new partner bask in the transformation, a chilling grin dancing upon his thin lips. Kneeling to its level, he lifted a marble hand and slammed it onto the metal pedal to the side.

An astounded gasp filled the air as the wooden frame constricted and contorted, becoming flat and tilting backwards with determined force. The murderer reveled in his new contraption, relishing the yowling that scratched through the air as it curled back into place.

_And they shall fall..._

_Backwards, without warning..._

_Alone and broken..._

_As I myself..._

Sweeney Todd rubbed a frigid hand against the fabric, which seemed smoother and more refined under his grasp.

_Have fallen from grace._

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_Author's Note_: Ugh, this came out so much shorter than I thought it would. Oh well, quality not quantity right?

Okay, so basically writing from the point of view from a chair...Well, I liked the way it came out. I got the idea this morning and scribbled it on my arm :)

This also might have another chapter. There was more I wanted to convey from this point of view, but it did not seem to fit into one piece. The two topics are pretty different, and it would have been sort of jagged to squish them together.

One last thought. I don't remember if the chair is in the room when Pirelli is killed; however, when I go through the songs in my head it is? If I'm incorrect, eh, it doesn't really interfere with the story so ... :)

I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors I might have missed.

Please review, if you don't mind. I'd appreciate it without measure.


	2. Chapter 2

_Scarlet_.

Drops of beautiful, sacred scarlet.

A mouth stretched wide as the tongue curled out in a harsh growl, begging with the taunting powers that be for some kindness.

The man above simply turned away, rubbing his sparkling assistant slowly, dragging the gray piece of cloth up and down in a rhythmic motion. Faced with the stolid back of the omnipotent being, the chair could only whine pitifully, sensing the crimson liquid that was so close to its reach. Its wishes were denied cruelly as the master stepped away soundlessly, gazing out the murky windows instead of giving attention to his loyal servant.

The ghoulish structure could only observe, glaring fervently at the metal blades tucked away in pale, ghostly hands. It watched as they somehow glistened and glittered in the darkness, illuminating what would have otherwise stayed a peacefully dismal room.

Envy, dying the fabric green from the wooden legs to the tip of the high back, seeped through the floor with a phlegmatic but toxic atmosphere. The very air seemed to crackle with the furious tension that rose from the clothed form, becoming almost tangible if someone had tried to grasp it.

This all was unnoticeable or unimportant with the one who stood aside, just out of range for the calloused claws. The frozen body simply stood nonchalantly, occasionally shifting eyes towards the door, the dark recesses of his thoughts revealed by the terrifying gleam.

Things had shifted with the passing of what was only a few short days. The affection of a doting killer had been drained from the trapped spirit, instead becoming fixated on the finer, more precise tool. His mutterings and musings were heard only by the never-dulled listener that seemed molded into his arm. Once the cool metal touched his hand, the skin grew over it with the ferocity of choking ivy; refusing to allow escape and instead clutching manically without release.

The man across the room had grown edgy of late. His skills remained as polished as ever, but tainted with such a fervor and poisonous passion that with each slice the blood might fly across the room. While this action was admired, it also become perplexing, as the steel armor began to crack for longer periods of time, allowing the fury to ooze out of its crevices and drip onto the floor, their smoking bodies melting the wood and leaving it with molten pitfalls for any man to disappear into.

This crazed disposition had led to many oddities; one being the odd boy downstairs making a visit to the secluded room that he often avoided as if it contained the plague. His suspicious hand had left with a letter in its grip, invisible blood along its corners just like everything else the master touched.

He had forced the boy on his way with hateful eyes, boring holes into his back until he had disappeared into the streets, and only letting his right hand man in on the deed he was preparing with such haste. His thoughts he kept shielded from his loyal servant, instead choosing to throw his razor atop the simmering cloth before bounding out of the room.

The two sat, closer to one another than they had ever been and yet their animosity had never been so strong. The enmity became visible in the air, tangible auras that threatened and twisted, trying to outdo one another in another desperate performance of power and regard. Before either could strike, their world began to spin in such a blur that any understanding fell prey to the intensity.

In an instant, an intruder had dared to enter, but had been quickly silenced with a flash of silver through skin. Only a second passed until she was gone, and a new, imposing figure had the courage to stand in the doorway.

The air changed upon his arrival. It became charged with anticipation and a cruel eagerness, dyed black by the sins that the barber was already preparing to commit, as soon the floor would be dyed red.

The chair welcomed the man into its embrace, boasting of its catch as the razor gleamed in preparation, moving along the victim's open throat with the swift guiding of its leading hand. With every deadly pass, it gleamed a wink against its counterpart, mocking it still with a gall that had gone unknown before this violent point.

Skin was broken before another gesture could be made, rivets of blood dripping down from the mangled throat as geysers flowed brilliantly with a crimson glow. The blade was covered in it, dripping red in the moonlight, and it had covered the man's face in a devil's mask, only coal eyes shining to show he lived. The chair felt the blood sink into its fabric with delight, cherishing the way it soaked its way deeper and deeper into the threads, giving it sick life with every drop.

Again, things changed too rapidly to count.

The man was gone, fallen backwards as both the master and his servant grinned together. The razors were lowered, slid onto the floor while the chair beamed, his opponent laid to rest while he still breathed. Suddenly there was a feminine boy on his seat, but then the master was gone with his razor, leaving the trembling visitor so shy from the room, leaving only a trail of terror in his wake.

The chair stood alone, drenched in beautiful blood but abandoned and left without purpose. Time passed, the liquid beginning to dry and turn a horrid brown, ruining to the glory of what had been shed. Then for the last time, something began to happen that it could not understand.

Unfamiliar men burst into the room, letting out hoarse shouts and cries that set the chair on an uneasy edge. They gaped at the blood, pointing to where it had splattered artistically on the glass pane of the window. They turned to the chair, one accidentally stepping on the metal pedal and releasing its fury. It let out a shriek of delight and pride at the astonished looks that spread across the gaping faces.

It's joyous spectacle did not last long. The chair was abruptly ripped from its place by bizarre tools and condemning hands. They carried it out of the room even as it screamed and moaned in protest, unable to fight against their murderous grip as they tore it from its home. The worse was still yet to come.

The spirit was tossed upon the filthy, gritty ground, its blood-soaked fabric overrun with grime and dirt. Without warning, the men began to dismember it, ripping each digit off its frame piece by piece until it was nothing more than a broken mess on the ground. They closed their ears to the howls of anguish and the yowls begging for at least an ounce of pity.

A match was lit, its flame burning the air with a demeaning flicker before it was tossed, flying through the air with only one destination.

The fabric caught aflame immediately, the heated hands crawling to each piece of wood, every metal finger and limb until it was all burning with an orange glow.

There were no sounds this time, to pleas or wishes. The chair burned in a dignified silence, slowly slipping to ashes with every second that took its life. Betrayal radiated through the air, cursing each of those men even though they could not explain the chill that ran through their iron hearts. The worst of it was sent towards the master, wherever he might be, the one who had deserted and left its partner to be maimed and eaten by an enemy who for once he couldn't conquer.

It's invisible eyes shone with the light of the dancing flames, and in a few minutes it was nothing more than dust and a few charred cogs, which were thrown into the pile of rubble to be forgotten forever more.

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_Author's Note :_ This didn't exactly come out as I had wished either, but I did try my best to fix it to my liking. I always kind of wondered what happened to the chair after it was found, which was something we got to think for ourselves since the ending left that open.

Sorry for any spelling or grammar errors that eluded me. To be honest, I was too hungry to check well

I hope you enjoyed it, and please review. Thank you for reading.


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